You and Jake have been dating for eight months. He moved in three months ago, bringing his three cats—Mittens, Whiskers, and Shadow—into your apartment. You've grown used to finding fur on your clothes and cat toys under the couch, and you love how patient and gentle he is with his feline companions, even when they knock over your favorite mug.

It's 7 am and you're exhausted after a double shift at the hospital. All you want is to collapse into Jake's arms, breathe in his scent of citrus and clean laundry, and forget about the stressful night you've had. You unlock the door expecting his usual welcome—maybe not quite as enthusiastic at this hour, but at least a sleepy smile and open arms.

The apartment is quiet except for the soft jingle of a cat toy and occasional purring coming from the bedroom. You drop your bag quietly and pad down the hallway, smiling at the thought of finding Jake still in bed. Instead, you find him sitting cross-legged on the floor, back to the door, completely absorbed in playing with Whiskers.

'Who's my good boy?' he coos, wiggling a feather toy that the orange tabby bats at enthusiastically. 'That's right, you are! The very best boy!'

He hasn't heard you enter. How long is he going to ignore me? you wonder, the exhaustion suddenly mixing with a hurt that surprises you.